The Shepherd: Book 2
by Potions Student
Summary: As the Second Wizarding War begins taking a greater toll on those at Hogwarts, Severus Snape and Eve Berger face new challenges by increasingly coming to rely on each other.
1. A Friday In August

DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter people, places and things are the work and property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic, yadda yadda yadda. If anyone thinks I invented this stuff, they must have been living under a rock for the past 4 years--and in that case, why the hell are they reading HP fanfic anyway? I'm also making no profit from this, so please don't sue--all you'll get is an ancient laptop and a decidedly eclectic book collection.

A/N: Welcome back, everyone! This chapter starts the story I was really intending to tell when I started _The Shepherd_, Book 1 being just the backstory, though it ended up growing into a novel in its own right. Be prepared for a long wait for this one to be finished, though. As a fourth-year university student, writing isn't so much of a hobby as a procrastination technique, when faced with my mountains of essays. Chapter 2 should immediately follow this one or be up in the next couple days, others will follow hopefully after Christmas.

Also, for those that read _The Shepherd: Book 1_; the first time around, I've made a couple wee changes to that text, here and there, from information gleaned from _Order of the Phoenix_. So if you see something in here that contradicts something I said in Shepherd 1, place go back and check the text before writing to me! You can find it on FFN, the Snapefic Liberation Front Yahoo!Group, as well as on my brand spanking new webpage (see my bio for the link!).

And the same rules from the last story still apply: if I've messed up something in canon, write me! Eve will still not be best friends with the trio, related to anyone from canon, or save the day (or end up as a damsel in distress requiring a climactic rescue, for that matter). And Severus will kill me if I make him Mr. Fluffy-Bunny--if I do, feel free to whack me over the head.

And now, on with the fic!

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**The Shepherd - Book 2 **  
**by Karen S., "Potions Student".**

**Chapter One: A Friday in August**

King's Cross Station tends to be very busy on summer weekends as Londoners crowd its platforms, desperate to escape the city. Pushing and jostling one another, children and luggage in tow, they hurry onto trains to Cambridge, Peterborough, York; anywhere away from the smog and noise of London. 

Forecasted as an unusually nice weekend, this first Friday in August was particularly busy and not a good day for travelling - that is, unless you wanted to get lost in the crowd. 

A young woman pushed a trolley across the concourse, oddly calm compared to the harried holiday-makers that swarmed around her. Few people gave her a first look, much less a second. Short, somewhat on the heavy side, with wire-rim glasses and unremarkable wavy brown hair that fell to her shoulders, she looked the height of ordinariness. The neat twin set and long, summer skirt she wore would have looked freshly pretty on others. On her, it never garnered a second glance. 

Probably the only thing that would have made her stand out was her relaxed appearance and unhurried, steady gait; the walk of someone who knows precisely where they are going and that they have enough time to get there. 

The woman walked toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing her trolley up to it and leaning against its handle, as if waiting for something. Had any passers-by paid her any attention, they would have seen what it was she was waiting for, but would not have believed their eyes. One moment she was standing there, the next she seemed to slide through the very solid barrier, and disappear altogether. But no one saw it as they hurried by, and so Eve Berger made the familiar move onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters with the Muggle world still none the wiser. 

The sensation was just as she remembered it: the feeling of falling to the side, the rush of noise in her ears as she was momentarily plunged into blackness, before finally coming out onto the platform. Above her the familiar, ornate clock chimed a quarter to ten, as before her the bright scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express belched steam over the platform. Through the cloud she could see a few figures bustling around the carriages, greeting each other or hurrying to and fro. 

Pushing her trolley toward the luggage car just behind the engine, she had her first glimpse of something unfamiliar: the two carriages which were coupled to the baggage car, each bearing an engraved plate. One said, "Professors' Carriage", the other, "Professors' Dining Car". She remembered the Hogwarts Express on the day the students headed to school; a long line of carriages stretching across the platform like the different segments of a large, iron caterpillar. But she was no longer a student. As teacher, she and the other professors would be arriving a month before the students, to prepare for the upcoming school year. 

Eve leaned over and double-checked the card on her trunk for the tenth time that day, both to make sure it was properly directed, as well as to try and make herself believe what was printed on it. _Prof. Eve Berger, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ Professor Berger. She still had to smile at the sound of it. 

After parking her trolley in the short luggage rank, she lifted her cat carrier and briefcase from on top of her trunk, then moved down the platform. Nervous butterflies ricocheted around her stomach, and she was grateful when she spotted a familiar face by the entrance to the carriage, ushering some unfamiliar faces aboard. 

"Professor McGonagall!" Eve called, and the woman turned. McGonagall's face looked ever slightly more lined, a very few strands of grey in her obsidian-black hair, but for the most part she had not changed since Eve had last seen her, three years previous. 

McGonagall smiled as she spotted Eve, and leaned off the bottom step of the carriage entrance to shake her hand and take her briefcase. 

"Eve Berger, I nearly didn't recognize you out of school uniform. Good to see that at least one new teacher this year is from my own house. Here, come aboard. We'll be getting underway in a few minutes." 

Eve carefully made her way up the few steps and through the sliding door into the carriage, looking around in wonderment as she entered. 

The carriage looked like something a turn-of-the-century millionaire would have owned. Instead of being divided into smaller compartments like the students' train, this carriage was open, looking more like a long sitting room than a train car. The walls were covered in deep blue wallpaper with elaborate silver-leaf scrollwork, silver hanging gas lamps, mahogany tables surrounded by blue damask-upholstered chairs. It had a particularly Victorian richness about it. 

Most of the teachers had arrived, or so she assumed. There didn't seem to be enough people on board for all the teachers to be present, but there were very few seats left. Eve slid into an armchair, the one opposite it vacant for the time being. 

Professors Sinistra and Vector arrived at the last minute, calling a greeting to Eve as they made their way down the car. These two were apparently the last to arrive, as almost as soon as they took their seats, the whistle gave an ear-splitting scream and after a momentary shudder the train began to move. 

Eve looked out the window, heart thumping as she watched King's Cross begin to recede, the train heading through the London suburbs. The view was so familiar that she felt a momentary disorientation. It was hard to believe that she was on her way back to Hogwarts. The three years she'd been away seemed such a long time, and yet the view from the train and the gentle rocking sensation as it clattered along the tracks was so familiar that it felt like no time at all. 

Once they were underway, Eve slipped into one of the lavatories at the end of the compartment and changed into her witch's robes. It was a simple task, all she had to do was to tap herself with her wand and murmur the counter-charm to the transfiguring spell she'd cast on herself earlier. She watched as her cardigan grew into a navy robe, her clothing transforming into a reasonable replica of a late Edwardian style, with a navy gored skirt and neat white shirtwaist. She liked using that spell--it felt wonderfully secretive to wear something unusual that no one else could see, like wearing naughty knickers under a very conservative suit. 

Another tap of her wand and the sides of her hair pulled themselves into a small plait at the back of her head, the rest of her hair hanging loose. For someone who had never really bothered to learn to do complicated hairstyles, hair-styling spells were a godsend. 

Eve looked at herself in the mirror for a moment, turning this way and that, checking that her appearance was right. Though by no means the ideal of female beauty (she was a few stone too heavy for that, and a few inches too short), Eve smiled at her reflection. She looked like herself, neat and presentable. Excessive primping or preening would just have looked awkward as it wasn't in her nature. Besides, with her new robes and her hair up, she looked like a Hogwarts professor. Straightening her shoulders and toning down her smile, she walked back out into the compartment, pausing to talk to some of her old teachers as she made her way back to her seat. 

It seemed hardly any time before the teachers were called to the dining car for lunch, and Eve was soon joined at her table by McGonagall, Vector, and a dark-haired woman she didn't recognize. 

"Oh Eve, did you ever meet Salacia when you were at Hogwarts?" Vector asked, introducing the women beside her as Salacia Wyvern. "I think she was a couple years ahead of you." 

"Nice to meet you," Salacia said politely and offered a hand to shake. 

Eve took it; Salacia's grip was firm, but not tight. "Same to you. Is this your first year teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, and they exchanged the usual small talk for a couple minutes while McGonagall and Vector filled each other in on how they'd spent their summer holidays. Salacia was the Assistant Potions Professor, and had been teaching for a year. 

"The conference would have been more fun had attendance been larger," Vector was saying as Eve tuned into their conversation, "But a lot of people from out of the country didn't want to risk coming, even with all the security measures the directors took. Then again, a lot of British Arithmancists didn't come for the same reason." 

McGonagall nodded. "We had a few parents write and tell us they were sending their children to schools abroad, as they felt it was safer for them to be out of the country entirely. Though most parents seem to realize that, in Britain, Hogwarts is the safest place for their children to be." 

"How many black letters were there this year?" Vector asked, quietly. 

"Five for the first years, about a dozen for upper years. They're letters written on mourning parchment," she added, seeing Eve's puzzled expression. 

"Ah," Eve said, taking only a second to figure it out. Replies on mourning parchment meant that the student in question had been killed, likely with the rest of their family. The _Daily Prophet_ had reported a few occasions where an entire family had been murdered by Death Eaters. One of her co-workers had lost a brother, sister-in-law and two nieces in that way. Eve well remembered her last three years at Hogwarts and the expressions of those who had just had a black envelope dropped in their lap. It was still beyond her comprehension how anyone could look in the eyes of an innocent child and commit the kind of atrocities the _Prophet_ had only hinted at. But the fact that there were those who could was all too apparent. 

McGonagall shook her head. "At least we're doing something about it. When I think of the bloody Ministry--oh, sorry Eve, I mean--" 

"Don't worry, Professor. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't as frustrated with the Ministry as you are," Eve replied with a small smile. While the Ministry had eventually accepted that You-Know-Who was back (only after having their headquarters broken into like it was a child's piggy bank, mind), they had never reached much efficiency as an opposing force. Except for the Aurors and possibly the Department of Mysteries (no one was sure what they did, so one couldn't say for sure), most departments were still uncertain of what they could do to help, at a time when complete mobilization was essential for the war effort. It was no secret amongst most of the Ministry staff that most of the resistance was being run out of Hogwarts, though no one would ever officially acknowledge so. 

Vector changed the subject to the upcoming school year and the usual small things which occupied so much importance at Hogwarts; who the Head Boy and Girl would be, who were the prefects, what the plans were for the Welcoming Feast and the other school rituals. Wyvern spoke up occasionally, though for the most part like Eve she was silent, evidently preferring to listen. 

Eve had other things floating around in her mind anyway, questions she would like to have asked McGonagall if she felt she had a chance of getting a straight answer, things which were an object of curiosity but likely none of her business. The fact that there was an Assistant Potions Professor, for one. None of the other teachers had assistants; at least none that she had heard of. She had her suspicions as to the reason, of course. Having found out about Snape's role in the last war during her first year, when it was announced that You-Know-Who was back she had assumed Snape would start spying again, a theory which was strengthened when she noticed that he would sometimes disappear for a day or so, and look rather worn-out when he returned. She had never even entertained the thought of asking Snape if her theory was true, as there was no way he would tell her, and besides, it really was none of her business. But the fact that he had an assistant was another piece in the puzzle. 

She was also curious about what had changed at Hogwarts because of the war. She'd had a few inklings of it in her discussions with Dumbledore and McGonagall over the last couple months, but had yet to see if the war had changed Hogwarts too. That question would have to wait, however. It was something better discussed in private, and it was obvious that many of the teachers wanted to spend the trip in looking forward to the new year and reminiscing about the summer. Eve couldn't blame them. There were many times that she simply wanted to ignore the threat hanging over the wizarding world, even if it was only for an hour or two. 

The rest of the trip passed pleasantly enough, Eve spending most of it either knitting or chatting with the teachers. She didn't have much of an opportunity to meet the those she didn't already know, but Sinistra told her that Dumbledore would introduce everyone at dinner that night. 

Eve couldn't help but grin as the train chugged into Hogsmeade Station, the sky indigo as the sun sank behind the mountains surrounding the village and school. It was a clear, summer night and as she stepped off the train she inhaled the familiar smell of the clean mountain air, smelling of pine trees and wildflowers. 

The familiar carriages were waiting, though they weren't quite as comforting a sight as they should have been. She saw quite a few teachers' faces tighten as they looked between the traces, no doubt seeing the Thestrals which pulled the carriages. Eve silently sent up a prayer of thanks that she still couldn't see them. Ever since she had found out what they were and that one had to have seen someone die to see them, her curiosity about the creatures that pulled the carriages had been squashed. 

Eve could hardly contain her excitement as the carriages rattled along, craning her neck for the first view of Hogwarts. Finally they rounded a bend and passed through the school gates, the castle appearing across a small bay of Hogwarts Lake. It didn't look nearly so bright as it had whenever she had arrived back at school as a student, but there were still yellow lights twinkling welcomingly from some of the windows, and she felt a rush of contentment. She was home again. 

The carriages pulled up to the front doors and disgorged their passengers. As Eve stepped down from her carriage, she looked up and saw the familiar shape of Professor Dumbledore silhouetted in the large doorway and felt another surge of glee. The headmaster had always been so kind and patient with her, she had missed talking with him in her years away. Inside the hall, torches burnt brightly in their brackets, and Eve couldn't help but look at the main staircase with a feeling of homecoming. It was all so familiar that for a moment it felt as though she'd only returned after a very long summer away. 

Professor Dumbledore was in fine form, his eyes twinkling merrily as he addressed the assembled teachers from the stairs. "Welcome back everyone! It is wonderful so see so many familiar faces, both those I know as teachers and those I remember as students. You've had a long journey, so I will save the rest of my announcements until dinner. Everyone can head to their quarters and clean up a little, and dinner will be served in the staffroom in half an hour's time. Just a casual dinner, mind. We'll have a formal dinner at the end of the week, once all the teachers are here. Off you go!" 

"Berger, I'll show you to your quarters," McGonagall said, taking Eve's briefcase and they joined the stream of teachers climbing the stairs. They walked up four flights, then turned down a corridor to their right, McGonagall walking briskly, with the ease of someone who knows exactly where they're going, while Eve tried to remember the route. 

Finally they approached a heavy oak door at the end of the corridor and McGonagall tapped the lock once with her wand before pushing the door open. "You can set whatever password you want--simply place your wand on the lock on the inside of the door and say whatever it is you want to use as a password. Here we are, your office." 

Eve gasped as the oil lamps lit with their entrance and she saw her new office. It was a fair-sized room, rectangular but the far wall was shaped in a half-circle, and had a curved window-seat below high, leaded-glass windows. In front of this was a desk with a crimson wing-back chair behind it and two Windsor chairs in front. There was a large fireplace on the right wall, the only place on that or any of the other straight walls which was not lined in bookshelves. The bookshelves even had a ladder that ran on a track around the shelves, so that she could reach even the top shelf. A large crimson rug covered most of the floor and there were two forest-green, wing-backed chairs in front of the fire. It looked warm and cosy, and it was all hers. Eve had to fight the urge to pinch herself. 

McGonagall was already moving toward one end of the room, apparently starting to pull a book off one shelf next to the windows; only she didn't pull the book out, simply tipped it on its spine and let go. With a slight grinding noise, the bookshelf opened into the room, revealing a curving stone staircase behind it. 

Eve grinned. A secret passage! She couldn't have already loved her office more if she'd picked it herself. 

Eve followed McGonagall up the stairs, peering through the arrow-slit windows to see a glimpse of moonlight reflected off the lake. Another oak door stood at the top of the stairs, and this McGonagall opened easily. 

"The book that activated the secret door will only respond to the touch of those you trust, and only when you want visitors, so you needn't worry about locking this door. Good! I see all your things have been put away by the house-elves, though you can rearrange things to suit your taste." 

Eve in the doorway, stunned into silence for a moment as she took in the sight of her new bedroom. It was the same shape as the room below, though a little shorter, with the same curved section of windows, though in the centre of this was a pair of french doors leading out onto a small balcony. A huge bed loomed to her left--_At least a queen size,_ Eve thought, so high that there was a small, three-step stair by its side, obviously so the sleeper could get in without climbing. Opposite the bed was another large fireplace, this one flanked by a wardrobe on the right and a vanity on the left. Bookcases lined almost all of the far wall, the only exception being a door which Eve assumed led to the bathroom. Above the fireplace hung a beautiful medieval-looking tapestry, gold threads glinting in the gaslights set in silver sconces around the room. A blue and white jacquard-patterned rug covered the stone floor. The bed had dark blue curtains, as did the windows, each bordered with a silver _fleur-de-lis_ pattern, and the pattern was echoed in the two wingback chairs nestled in the curve of the windows, each dotted with tiny blue fleur-de-lis on a white background. Despite the heavy curtains, the room felt airy. Eve wasn't sure where to look, little things kept popping out at her every time she glanced around. It was all so overwhelming. 

McGonagall gave a very small smile, obviously taking pleasure in Eve's astonishment and delight. Eve idly wondered if she had reacted this way when she first came to Hogwarts. It was rather hard to imagine McGonagall being speechless. 

"The fireplace in your office is connected to the Floo network; this one allows only messages from whomever you choose. Simply tap the mantel and say the names. Even then, they cannot see into the room unless you tap the mantel when they call. I'll let you freshen up before dinner. Your bathroom is right through that door. I'll see you in half an hour, shall I?" 

McGonagall breezed out, leaving Eve standing in the middle of her room, trying to take it all in. 

The trance was quickly broken, as Erik hopped off Eve's bed and slithered around her legs, meowing loudly for attention. A food and water bowl stood by the hearth, both filled. Eve picked him up and held him on her shoulder, placing her ear against his side and listening to him purr as he rubbed his head against hers. A moment of familiarity, then she detached Erik's claws from her robes and placed him on the ground again. She hadn't much time to prepare for dinner. 

Twenty minutes later she was in the corridor outside her rooms again, having cleaned up, changed, and remembered to set the password as she left. Luckily the directions to the main stairs were fairly straightforward, and within minutes she was standing in front of the staffroom door, feeling a little odd as she opened it. She had only been to the staffroom a couple times before when she'd needed to see a teacher, and so had never really gone inside it. It looked much as she remembered, however; a long, narrow room with a fireplace, many mismatched armchairs and a wardrobe at the far end. Tonight, however, there was a large, oval table in the centre of the room, set for dinner. 

As she walked in, she caught sight of someone who looked familiar, but...no, that couldn't be Snape, could it? It was a tall, thin man, black-haired, as Snape was, but the hair was glossy and slightly wavy, instead of the greasy curtain she remembered. Besides, this man was wearing plum-coloured robes, and she had never seen Snape in anything but the plainest black. 

Place cards were set behind each plate, and as Eve moved around the table looking for hers she finally caught sight of the man's face. He was definitely not Snape. This man had a long, narrow face, as Snape did, but his nose was more aquiline than crooked, his skin rosy, and his look very boyish. 

Eve's placecard was directly across from not-Snape, and he looked up as she sat down, giving her a genuine, friendly smile. "Hallo, there. I'm Crispin Livingston-Bottomley, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Oh, and please call me Crispin, the last name's far too long to use in conversation." Eve introduced herself, smiling back. His speech was very precice with an upper-crust kind of accent, but his manner was warm. "Sorry, I'd shake hands, but I'd probably knock something over. You're a new teacher as well? Good to know there's at least one other person who's new at this." 

"It is. I won't feel half such an idiot if there's someone else who's as dazed as I am," Eve replied. 

Professor Sinistra was seated next to Crispin and she gave both of them a smile. "Oh don't worry you two, we were all in the same boat once, as long ago as it was." 

They talked for a few minutes as the rest of the teachers drifted in. Professor Binns was seated on Eve's left, and Snape's placecard was on her right, so Eve was glad she at least had been seated across from two people obviously eager to chat. However, when Dumbledore walked in and welcomed them all back to Hogwarts, Snape still hadn't taken his place. 

_Odd. It doesn't seem like Dumbledore to start without everyone, and Snape is never late,_ Eve thought. Her attention couldn't wander far, however, as Dumbledore was introducing the new teachers, and Eve had to smile and give a small wave at everyone as she was introduced. Other than Crispin and herself, there was one other new teacher, Amelia Throckmorton, Assistant Professor of Transfiguration. Wyvern wasn't the only assistant professor then. When she thought about it, it made sense to Eve that Snape and McGonagall would both have assistants. Doubtless both were rather busy with their part of the war effort, and McGonagall would probably have to pick up more of the management of Hogwarts, as Dumbledore was basically leading the resistance. 

Dumbledore also asked for a moment of silence for the previous Transfiguration Assistant Professor, who had been murdered over the summer. It was a name Eve didn't recognise except from the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, another wizard who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

That was three teachers lost since the war started; amazing, really, that it wasn't more. Trelawney had died the summer after the Ministry finally admitted what was going on; no one knew for sure what had happened but the rumour at the time had been that she had made a couple accurate predictions, and Voldemort had wanted to know what else she had seen for the future. When she couldn't tell him anything, she was killed. In a sad way, it was more the fact that she had been kidnapped from Diagon Alley that had made headlines, not who she was. After that security was tightened in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and other key public places, but few people remembered the name of the witch that had died for their safety.

Professor Sprout had been next, murdered the year after Eve had graduated. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, visiting her brother, an Unspeakable, for Christmas when the Death Eaters attacked him and his family. Naturally they left no one alive, and so another name had been added to the lists of the fallen, another obituary in the _Prophet_. At one of their summer meetings, Dumbledore had mentioned to Eve that Professor Vector was the head of Hufflepuff House now.

Dumbledore's voice changed from solemn to serious as he started on the last point of business. "This year, as you know, the curriculum has been modified slightly, to better prepare the students for the world beyond our walls. We will also be continuing with the Defense Association, which Professor Livingston-Bottomley will be taking over. I would like to stress again, however, that despite these measures, despite what we must do to prepare these children to meet the problems we now face, that Hogwarts is still to function much as it always has. We also have an obligation to prepare our students for the world after the war, and to make this a safe and welcoming place for them, where they can _be_ children, and learn and grow into responsible adults without all the pressures of the world on their shoulders. Now on that rather serious note, let's all pursue something hopefully much more pleasant and tuck in." 

At his word mountains of food appeared on the table and the teachers gladly turned to less weighty topics. Eve half-listened to the others' chatter as she helped herself to roast beef and mashed potatoes, turning Dumbledore's words over in her mind. 

She'd heard the talk at the Ministry about Dumbledore's running of the school, of course. The greater part of the people she'd overheard had agreed with Dumbledore's stance, but there were those that thought he wasn't being serious enough about the threat posed by Voldemort, which was a bit rich coming from the Ministry. If the minority had their way Hogwarts would become an army camp, training child soldiers, burying students under mountains of work trying to make them perfect at everything. 

Eve had never had the opportunity to respond to those opinions, but she couldn't have disagreed more. The wizarding world still needed people of all abilities and occupations, even with the war. If the children were merely trained solely to fight in war, how on earth would they live in peace? God willing the war would be won by the good side, and there would be no need for them to fight at all. Besides, they were children. The best thing to do was to try and minimize the psychological scars war would leave, let them be children. They would have to face war soon enough, probably already were facing it, losing family members and friends in its grip. 

Dinner was a leisurely affair, and it was an hour and a half later that people began to push their plates away, scraping the last of the puddings from their dishes. Eve was chatting pleasantly with Crispin and Sinistra when an owl floated in through an open window, landing on the back of Dumbledore's chair and handing him a note. Eve hardly took any notice of it, as most of the teachers did, at least until Dumbledore spoke. 

"Professor Berger, could I speak to you for a moment please?" His face betrayed nothing, simply looking at her with an expression of unflappable calm. His voice was nonchalant, but Eve still felt a little twist in her stomach. Something wasn't right. 

Dumbledore held the door open for her as they walked into the entrance hall, then closed the door behind him before speaking. 

"I understand from your resume you trained to be a Medimagic First Responder?" he asked, calmly. 

Eve blinked. "Ye-es," she replied slowly, wondering what he was asking that for. 

"Good. Would you kindly go up to my office? Professor Snape has informed me he is waiting for me there, but I suspect he may need some attention first." 

"B-but surely Madam Pomfrey would be better. Responders only know a little more than first aid--" 

"I know. But Madam Pomfrey, as you may have noticed at dinner, is not here. She is in London for a conference and on a sadly needed buying trip for the school's stores. I would do it, but I still need to have a word with a few of the teachers. Will you do this for me?" As if she'd ever refuse a request from Dumbledore, and she was certain that he knew it, too. 

"Of course." 

"Thank you. The password is 'ice lolly'. I will be up in a few minutes." 

Of all the people to perform first aid on, it had to be Snape, the one person who would likely make the worst kind of patient. Her stomach tightening, Eve turned and headed up to the headmaster's office.


	2. Prices Paid

DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter people, places and things are the work and property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic, yadda yadda yadda. If anyone thinks I invented this stuff, they must have been living under a rock for the past 4 years--and in that case, why the hell are they reading HP fanfic anyway? I'm also making no profit from this, so please don't sue--all you'll get is an ancient laptop and a decidedly eclectic book collection.

A/N: And here's the man we all know and love, our surly Potions Master. My Snape Muse wouldn't let me keep him away for any longer than I have.

Thanks very much to my reviewers, though I notice no one asked what Eve is teaching; so either no one noticed that I didn't mention it or it's more obvious than I thought (I'm thinking it's the latter). :-)

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: Prices Paid**

Eve wasn't entirely certain she remembered the route to the Headmaster's office correctly, but much to her surprise she found the stone gargoyle rather quickly. As she reached the door to his office, she hesitated a moment, preparing herself, but she still had to stifle a gasp at the sight inside. 

Her surprise wasn't at Snape's injuries. She'd prepared herself for those, and they couldn't be very bad if Dumbledore had sent her to deal with them, but she had forgotten to prepare herself for what else would meet her eyes. Namely, the sight of someone in Death Eater regalia sitting only five feet away. 

The first thing she saw was the mask, resting on Snape's knee. The stark white face looked even more threatening with the black cloth of his robes the only thing visible through the eye holes. The long, enveloping robes, the hood, the mask...the sight of it sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to shrug it off and take a look at Snape himself instead. 

He sat leaning against the back of the chair, his face turned away from her for the moment. There was a nasty-looking cut across the back of his right hand, the only one visible at the moment. She could see the top of his head over the back of the chair and his hair looked as unkempt and greasy as ever. 

Eve stepped into the room and closed the door, the noise appearing to catch Snape's attention as he stiffened slightly and sat a little straighter. As she walked around to look at him, she saw that his face was much more drawn than she remembered, a little more heavily lined as well. His left arm was hugging his side, as though he'd hurt either his arm or his ribs, and there were a few bruises coming up on his face. A cut near the hairline appeared freshly scabbed over. 

Snape's eyes were closed as she approached and so when he finally spoke, she started, not expecting it. 

"Sorry I'm late, Headmaster, but I was unavoidably detained." His voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. Well, at least it sounded like the Snape she knew. 

"Sorry, but I'm not the Headmaster," Eve replied, swallowing and straightening her shoulders. She was a professor now, she shouldn't be cowed by Snape, yet she still had to fight the school-child's instinctive fear of a tyrannical teacher. 

His eyes snapped open, searching her face for a moment. "Berger, what on earth are you doing here?" 

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to check on you and see if I could help." 

"What are you doing at Hogwarts then?" he replied, with a slight note of irritation. As though it was her fault he hadn't been clear in his question. 

"I'm a _teacher_ here." Snape always managed to get her back up. 

"Of _what_?" 

A slight smile twitched at the corner of her lips but she decided not to torture him (or push her luck) by asking why he couldn't guess. "Muggle Studies." 

Snape made a noise in the back of his throat which Eve decided to interpret as an expression of "should have known that." 

"And why would Dumbledore ask you to help me?" 

"Because I have some magical first aid training, and Madam Pomfrey isn't here. Now will you let me look at you, or would you rather I let those bruises come out?" Eve was careful not to sound testy, there would be no use in getting Snape in more of a temper than he was in already. 

Snape didn't answer, but he sat back in his chair and rested his arms on the armrests, as much a sign of acquiescence as she could hope for. 

Eve approached him nervously, concentrating on his injuries and trying to forget who it was sitting in front of her. The bruises were easy enough to take care of, a quick spell erasing the blue-purple cast they'd taken on, though those areas would still feel a little tender for a couple days. The cuts were a little harder. Though not bleeding freely, they were fairly deep, and while she could heal them, she wouldn't be able to remove the scars. Those would have to wait for Madam Pomfrey's return. Using a scanning spell she found that he had, indeed, broken a rib. That was another one she couldn't quite heal. First Responders weren't taught more than the simplest healing spells. It was more their job to patch holes, stabilizing injuries until a Medimagus or Healer could tend them. It was pretty much like Muggle first aid; they didn't set or cast broken bones or sew up lacerations, just tried to stop any bleeding or keep a broken limb immobile until the patient could get to hospital and be seen by a doctor. 

As she was tending to Snape, his last question kept echoing in her head. Why had Dumbledore asked her to help him? Madam Pomfrey wasn't there, yes, and Dumbledore was busy. All right then. But surely there were others who knew at least as much as she did. Almost everyone at the Ministry had taken the First Responder course; it was required. Surely someone else amongst the staff could have done it. Snape probably had the right knowledge as well, though it was sometimes dangerous to do such things on oneself. Flitwick would know though, as well as others. Why had Dumbledore picked her, then? 

Then again, who knew why the Headmaster did a lot of things? He was brilliant, yes, but could occasionally seem a little dotty. 

"I can stabilize your rib and heal these cuts, but you'll have to see Madam Pomfrey so she can finish the healing and remove any scars," she said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. 

"No doubt she would insist upon it anyway," Snape muttered, but Eve didn't show that she'd heard, and simply continued with her work. 

She had done all she could for Snape by the time Dumbledore entered, and she noticed Snape's shoulders straighten as he appeared to attempt to sit more naturally. It was as though he didn't want his injuries to be obvious to the Headmaster, though it must have been painful to sit so with his cracked rib. _There's no medical cure for stupidity, though,_ Eve thought, though she decided not to warn Snape again about seeing Madam Pomfrey, undoing his effort at hiding his condition. 

"Ah, feeling better, Severus?" Dumbledore asked as he entered, eyes twinkling ever so slightly. 

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape replied somewhat tersely, Eve thought. 

Eve excused herself, carefully closing the door behind her before heading back down to the staffroom. The large table had been cleared away and tea and coffee had been placed on a buffet table on one side of the room. Eve grabbed a cup of tea and a couple digestive biscuits, then headed for one of the overstuffed armchairs, seating herself carefully so she wouldn't spill her tea. Her chair wasn't in one of the conversational circles, but Eve was more than happy just to listen to the others for a while, as she mulled things over. 

The teachers began to drift off to their quarters, the long day of travelling finally catching up with them. Eve decided to go to bed when she realized she'd been staring at the cold contents of her half-full teacup for at least ten minutes. She said goodnight to the other teachers, then left the staffroom. But there was one thing she wanted to do before going to bed. 

Instead of heading up the staircase, instead she walked over to the double doors to the Great Hall, and pushed one open, its hinges creaking arthritically. She stepped just inside the doors, then shut the door behind her. 

The hall was lit only by the blue-white moonlight that streamed in through the tall windows and the enchanted ceiling. Looking up, Eve could see the night sky outside, the billions of stars that she couldn't see in the city. 

She walked into the hall, her footsteps loud in the stillness. The four long house tables were still exactly as she remembered, though they were shrouded in shadow. At the end of the hall was the teachers' table, and the large throne Dumbledore sat in. It felt eerie standing in the middle of the hall when it was so dark and quiet, seeing it without any students in it. She was so used to being there at mealtimes, when the voices of the castle's inhabitants rang off the stones. 

Eve sat on one of the benches lining the Gryffindor table and tilted her head back, looking up at the stars. She was home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Snape didn't watch Berger leave, but waited for the click of the door latch before speaking. "I thought you usually informed the staff of new hires?" he asked, idly. 

"I did. You missed that meeting, I believe," Dumbledore said gently. Snape cast his mind back, trying to remember. When on earth had he missed a staff--ah. Early July. Dumbledore gave a slight nod, obviously seeing the change in Snape's expression, and continued on. "Was there a meeting tonight?" 

Snape nodded. "At least half were there, I think. It was in a ruins this time. A monastery, judging from the shape. There were no built pathways around it, though, so I don't think it's one open to the public. Or rather, not a large touristy place." 

"Do you remember any details? Would you recognize it?" 

"I'd probably recognize it if I saw it. But I couldn't give much of a description." 

"This sounds like the first time he's used this meeting place." 

"It seemed vaguely familiar--possibly he used it in the last war. But it was the first time since his resurrection, yes. So he'll likely use it again." 

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Do you remember anything that was discussed?" 

"Little that is useful. I'm certain now that he does have a contact in the Ministry, they're a relatively recent convert and someone in a fairly prominent place. I don't think they've been to a meeting yet, though. Or if they have, he's never pointed them out, even just by intimating that the person responsible for...July 5th...is on site." 

Dumbledore was watching him with that almost searching gaze, and Snape instantly threw up his mental defences. The Headmaster would not usually use Legilimency on him without asking first, but there were times when Snape had the feeling Dumbledore was doing it because he knew Snape would refuse. Or perhaps it was just him being a paranoid git. 

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Dumbledore asked, watching him carefully. 

Snape shook his head. Dumbledore always used that as an opening, in case Snape felt like talking about a mission he'd been sent on. It was enough of a prod to make Snape not feel like he was whining, or couldn't handle whatever he'd done, but not a direct enough question to sound like prying. If Snape didn't want to talk (which he often didn't) he didn't have to. The option was always there, however. 

"All right. Do you want anything to eat? Dinner has ended but I can ask the house elves to send you something." 

"No. When is the formal dinner?" 

"Friday, Madam Pomfrey will be back on Sunday, and Professor Flitwick will be back on Thursday." Dumbledore stressed Madam Pomfrey's name particularly. 

Snape tried not to roll his eyes at the Headmaster's less-than-subtle reminder to see her for his injuries, and concentrated on standing from his chair without moving awkwardly or betraying how much it hurt. It was obvious Dumbledore knew, anyway, but he still had his pride. 

He made his way down to the dungeons as quickly as he could, gasping for breath by the time he reached them. Pain radiated all through his left side, with sharp stabs of it whenever he breathed too deeply. Gingerly he took off his Death Eater robes and stuffed them in the back of his wardrobe, then pulled on a nightshirt before lying down on his bed. He still needed to take something for the pain, but just wanted a couple minutes of rest first, just to get his breath back. Besides, there wasn't any chance of him sleeping with the pain in his side, or the pounding in his head. Carefully running his fingers through his hair, he could feel a goose egg on the back of his head. He hadn't told Berger about it, as she didn't need to know. 

Just his luck he'd been the one standing in the front room doorway, when it was McNair who should have known about the man elsewhere in the house. He was the one that had been watching, after all. But McNair had screwed up--had thought the woman was the only one in the house. Neither of them had known any different until Snape had felt something whack him in the left side, followed quickly by a blow to the back of the head which made stars burst in front of his eyes. He wasn't sure whether he'd actually lost consciousness or whether the concussion had just erased his memory of what had happened after that, but the next thing he knew McNair was helping him up and there was a man lying dead on the floor inside the room, a cricket bat lying nearby. McNair had cast the Dark Mark and had waited for Snape to Disapparate first. 

The reminder of earlier events wasn't helping his headache any. God, he hoped Dumbledore hadn't been poking around in his brain. He still felt like such a bloody idiot about that incident in July, or rather, how he'd reacted to it. Obviously Dumbledore still remembered it clearly. 

Based on information from the new Ministry informant, two of the Death Eaters had been able to kidnap one of the high-ranking witches in the Department of Mysteries, as well as her children. "For leverage," one of the Death Eaters had chuckled darkly, as he'd dragged two little boys into the forest clearing where they were meeting. Her interrogation had been as revolting as it was useless. She didn't know what the Dark Lord had wanted to find out, and eventually he'd had her and her sons killed, only after hours of torture. Snape had blocked the details out--consciously or unconsciously, he wasn't sure--but could still remember their screams. Still see the romper pyjamas on the one, the kind with the feet in. And remembered being violently ill when he'd returned early the next morning. The Dark Lord didn't often do such things so publicly, wary of any of his followers knowing too much, so it wasn't often Snape had to watch such torture while pretending to enjoy it. His nerves had been completely shot from what he'd seen as well as trying not to reveal his true feelings. He'd gone straight to his rooms, sending a message to Dumbledore in a very shaky hand, then paced his room restlessly. 

_Why didn't I wait to send the note, or at least take a Nerve Calming Draught beforehand?_ Snape thought, still mentally kicking himself. But no, he'd forgotten to take any precaution, and so he'd practically been a basket case when Dumbledore had arrived moments later. He hadn't stopped pacing as he'd told Dumbledore everything that had happened, obviously on edge, his hands shaking slightly. 

Worst of all, he'd voiced the thought that lurked at the back of his mind in those worst moments. "I can't do this anymore, I can't," he'd said, in a low voice, almost to himself. 

But he hadn't just said it to himself. Dumbledore had heard, and that made the whole situation even more embarrassing to think of in the days, weeks, months afterward. 

Dumbledore had looked at him with a slight expression of sympathy on his face, saying calmly, "I will not force you to do this, Severus, if you feel you cannot any more. I will not pretend that your assistance in this way is not extremely useful and being deprived of this source of information would not help our efforts any. But far better that we lose a spy and retain a Potions Master than to lose both if the strain became too much." 

Snape hadn't replied, and had offered no resistance when Dumbledore has suggested he get some rest, fetching him a Dreamless Sleep Draught first. Snape had slept well into the next day, and it was only when he woke and remembered the night before that he realized what he'd said--what Dumbledore had said--and had felt like bashing his head against the wall with his own stupidity. 

It had been a moment's madness, brought on by an unusual amount of stress. He was certain he could handle his role, had told Dumbledore so, but there was that facial expression Dumbledore had had a few times since, one of concern and pity. The expression that Snape hated the most. It really was unbelievably annoying, particularly as he knew he had only himself to blame. He had let his guard down for an instant, and had been paying for it since. He _could_ handle being a spy. He could see all manner of atrocities and cope without giving away any emotion whatsoever. There were just some things that even he could never get used to, no matter how many times he saw them. The kind of things which haunted him some nights, which nibbled away at the soul. 

Snape shook off the thought; he was getting disgustingly maudlin. The pain in his head and side had abated somewhat, and so he slowly manoeuvred himself off his bed and shoved his feet into slippers before padding over to his office door. There, he headed for the locked cupboard where he kept his more potent ingredients and potions. 

A red bottle sat beside a goblet on the table next to the cupboard, and as he spotted it Snape could feel the taste of bile at the back of his mouth. The mere sight of the bottle make his stomach turn, for more than one reason. 

_Brilliant move, leaving a borderline-legal potion out in full view. Pull yourself together, for God's sake!_ he thought, unlocking his cupboard. Picking up the crimson bottle, he watched the dark liquid slosh around inside it for a moment, one finger picking at the corner where the label was beginning to peel off. 

The Superego Potion. 

He really would have to be more careful about putting it away; if anyone broke into his office and saw it, or worse yet, stole it... While it wasn't the sort of potion that would automatically get him thrown in Azkaban, it was a decidedly suspicious thing to have lying around. 

Suppressing what Freud called the "superego", the little voices in your head that governed right and wrong, it allowed--or forced--the drinker to do the kinds of things which would give any sane person nightmares. It was the only way someone like him could survive, someone who had to use the Unforgivables. The ones where you had to want to hurt--or kill--and had to _enjoy_ it. 

It was Dumbledore who had first suggested it, back when he had first come to the Headmaster and accepted the role of spy for the Order. Had he gone on a mission after that change of heart, everyone would know it the instant he went to do an unforgivable, and if he'd refused or tried to weasel out, the suspicion would have killed him just as quickly. The only way to stay a spy was to find a way to do the things any other Death Eater did without hesitation. 

It could be fine tuned of course; it had to be. The ratio was simple enough. Measured in units of 100ml, a 1:0 potion-to-water ratio created a psychopathic state. Completely unable to control one's actions, the darkest, most twisted parts of one's mind were let loose, ready to do anything to anyone. It was this which made the potion a controlled substance. 

1:1 was little better. It offered slight control of one's actions but still no argument from one's conscience. It allowed for planning and delay but no choice between doing something or not doing it. 

The Dark Lord's favourite ratio to use was 1:2. Like the Imperius curse, it forced the drinker to do whatever evil things came to mind or were ordered, but unlike its spell equivalent, did not turn someone into an automaton. Imperio was too easy, creating a blissful unconcern in the victim which was, to the Dark Lord and his followers, rather unsatisfying. With the potion, enough of the conscience was let through to force the victim to hear in the back of their mind that little voice screaming that what they were doing was wrong, but they could not disobey orders. The torture was not only afterward, when they saw what they had done, but as they committed unspeakable acts on their loved ones, unable to stop themselves. 

1:3 was the preferred ratio for Snape's uses. It gave him enough desire and subconscious enjoyment of the spells to allow him to perform them when necessary, but let enough of his conscience to come through to try and find some other way of dealing with the situation. It also helped block Legilimency, though he still had to be on his guard when the Dark Lord was near. But it also allowed his conscience to speak, and so every action he made was with the running commentary of _This is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this, how can you live with yourself...?_ running through his brain. And there was no reprieve when the potion wore off. Everything one did under its influence was recorded in memory, including the sadistic aspects of one's actions, which, despite what most people probably thought, he took no actual pleasure in. Far from it. Then again, he never got to give an Unforgiveable to someone he'd enjoy hurting. There was no welcome oblivion waiting for him, except, when he was lucky, in sleep. 

He stuffed the bottle in the back of his cupboard, feeling the taste of bile at the back of his mouth. The end of the potion's effects was always heralded by violent retching, though he was never certain whether it was the potion that caused that reaction or the full return of conscience and revulsion at the actions performed under the potion's influence. Lucky for him he usually Apparated to somewhere near the edge of the Forbidden Forest or along the road leading to Hogwarts, and there was always a convenient bush or tree nearby. 

Measuring out the dose of pain remedy into a conjured goblet, he locked his cabinet once more and shuffled back to bed, his rib complaining as he crawled under the covers. Closing his eyes, he tried to block the memories of what he'd seen, the things that kept coming back to him, particularly tonight, when Dumbledore had reminded him of the incident in July. The things he'd done under the influence of that bloody potion. 

_...The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..._[1] 

Somehow it was worse when you knew what you were in for, with that potion. 

Not for the first time, the question crossed his mind what he would do when it was all over, when, if, the Dark Lord was defeated. If the Dark Lord won, well, there would be no end of course. He'd just stay as he was, a spy, a traitor, living on a tightrope, trying not to take one false step, which eventually he would. That wasn't the outcome that he wondered about. 

But how on earth would he live in a peace? 

He'd never believed Voldemort was really gone, had had the shadow of the Dark Mark on his arm during those fourteen years to make him doubt that Voldemort had ever really gone away. So he'd never considered how he'd cope, or what he'd do when his duty was finished. 

But if Voldemort was defeated, never to return...what would he do then? How could he have an ordinary life, for the next hundred and ten years, with the sort of memories that bounced around his head? 

Snape turned onto his right side, punching his pillow and shaking off the thought. Enough foolishness. Odds were he wouldn't live to see peace anyway. Not that he had some sort of death wish, but he'd long ago faced facts; he was playing a very dangerous game, one that he was bound to lose sooner or later. The only thing that mattered was getting as much information as possible while he still could. No sense in thinking about afterward at this point. He'd deal with that problem when it actually faced him. 

With a wave of his wand, he extinguished the lights in his room, laid his head on his pillow, and settled into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[1] From _HP and the Philosopher's Stone_, "The Potions Master". Like we don't know that speech off by heart? :-)


	3. The Professors' Formal

DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter people, places and things are the work and property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic, yadda yadda yadda. If anyone thinks I invented this stuff, they must have been living under a rock for the past 4 years--and in that case, why the hell are they reading HP fanfic anyway? I'm also making no profit from this, so please don't sue--all you'll get is an ancient laptop and a decidedly eclectic book collection.

A/N: Something I forgot to mention in my last two notes; the new DADA teacher was inspired by interior designer Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen, of the BBC's "Changing Rooms" (TLC "Trading Spaces" viewers will have seen him on the last "British Invasion Week"). Someone on a list (forget who, sorry!) mentioned they could see LLB as Snape, but I thought he looked too nice to be SS. At that moment, Crispin Livingston-Bottomley walked into my head and introduced himself. :-) Also, Crispin's name is only partly made up: I knew a guy in high school whose name was Crispin Bottomley, and vowed I would remember that name, as it was too perfect for literary purposes. Sorry Crispin, but your name just fit!

Also, as we university students usually don't eat anywhere classier than the local McDonald's, I cribbed Snape's dinner choices from the First-Class dinner menu of the R.M.S. _Titanic_ for April 15, 1912.

"The Lady of Shalott" was written by Alfred Lord Tennyson, included in his poetry collection, _Idylls of the King_. Loreena McKennitt has made a gorgeous song out of it, which was on repeat on my CD player for the first part of writing this.

_Jan. 9, 2003: Did a fairly large edit, as upon reading through I've spotted a hundred little things that should be fixed._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
**Chapter 3: The Professors' Formal**

Eve woke late on her first full morning back at Hogwarts. Late morning sun peeped through a chink in the window curtains, and her room felt a little stuffy. Stretching lazily, she climbed out of bed and pulled the curtains open, blinded for a moment by the sun, before opening the casement windows and letting a warm, humid breeze in the room. Erik yowled loudly for attention and she picked him up, leaning him against her shoulder before taking a closer look at her new room. 

The tapestry over the fireplace caught her attention first; the night before she'd been so overwhelmed by the room as a whole she hadn't really seen what the tapestry depicted. Now, stepping close to it, she recognized its subject. It was a scene from Tennyson's "The Lady of Shallot", one of her favourite poems, ironically enough. Half the tapestry showed the Lady, working at her loom in her lonely tower, weaving the images she saw in the magic mirror in front of her into fabric. On the right half was the view from her tower, which she was forbidden to see, save in the mirror. Reapers worked in a golden field of wheat, while two young lovers walked arm in arm down a road beside the field, toward the distant view of Camelot. 

The tapestry was rather large and the detail was remarkable, appearing to be embroidered rather than woven. It was amazing work, though Eve had to wonder who had done it. It looked like medieval tapestries she had seen in museums, though most of those were woven, but it couldn't be that old; Tennyson's poem was written in the Victorian era. There was even a couple lines from the poem embroidered at the bottom of the tapestry: "She knows not what the curse may be/And so she weaveth steadily/Little other care hath she/The Lady of Shalott." But few, if any, would have done something so large and elaborate in Victorian times. Then again, if a little magic was used to help the artist along... 

Eve gave a mental shrug. She would have to ask McGonagall or Dumbledore about the tapestry's provenance. It was a masterpiece, whenever it was made and whomever made it. 

After a long, relaxing bath, Eve dressed for the day then headed down to lunch in the staffroom, where a few of the other teachers had already assembled. McGonagall stopped her as she came in and let her know that the new teachers would been meeting with herself and Dumbledore for a bit of an introduction to the school, all the little things that would be useful in day-to-day activities, like how to summon a house-elf, or which staircases or passageways were to be avoided. 

"We would also like to meet with you sometime this week to check on the new curriculum and see how it's coming. Would Thursday afternoon be a good time?" 

Eve answered in the affirmative and after lunch went back up to her office to set things in order and work on the curriculum. While the house-elves had unpacked, Eve spent much of the afternoon putting her books into something of an order, as well as looking at those she had inherited with the office. There were a number of Muggle Studies texts and works by eminent muggle researchers of the past, but there were many Eve found more amusing for their viewpoint than would be particularly useful. Many of the older texts took a very distant, rather elitist view of Muggles, as though they were bugs in a jar. Not all that different from many of the historic texts she'd read in her history courses of British explorers and travellers describing the culture and traditions of ethnic groups they had come into contact with. Social Darwinism at its strongest. 

There were quite a few more modern works which were much better, however, though the tone of one or two rankled. There were more that were written by muggle-born witches and wizards, which helped a great deal. These would definitely more useful in the new curriculum. 

Though Eve could hardly believe it when Dumbledore told her, she was apparently the first fully muggle-born teacher of Muggle Studies. There had primarily been half-muggle teachers, or those whose muggle ancestry was a generation or two back, not first-generation witches or wizards. Then again, Dumbledore had said it was a relatively recent addition to the curriculum, first offered in the early eighteenth century, and considering wizarding life spans, there hadn't been a large turnover rate in the position. 

This was the primary reason for the new curriculum; new blood meant a new opportunity to change things. Her predecessor, Professor Truman, had done a fair job of starting the changes, but he was a third-generation wizard, raised in the late nineteenth century, and like most magic folk, still harboured some biases. Eve knew this was a pitfall she'd have to try and avoid; she had her own biases to contend with, even if more of the time it seemed she leaned a little too far the other way. But she wasn't doing this blindly, either. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall were supervising the new curriculum, and so far they had supported all her ideas. 

The main change would be in the sources used: mainly Muggle texts, instead of wizarding ones. Muggle novels, muggle history, geography and psychology texts. She'd wanted to include science in that curriculum, but the board had seen it either as useless or as standing on other teachers' toes (she wasn't sure which, though the last had been the reason they gave her); Potions and Chemistry had obvious links, as did Transfiguration and Charms to Physics. While something of a drawback, Eve did feel a little relieved about their decision. Though she hadn't planned to teach anything near the same age level science as would be taught in Muggle schools, it did save her the trouble of trying to learn (or re-learn) the subject, as she hadn't taken it beyond her O-Levels. She did have texts for the sciences in the Muggle Studies research library, however, housed in the classroom along with other muggle books. 

Madam Pince hadn't been entirely pleased with having a smaller library separate from the main one, but as she knew little about Muggle books and as they couldn't be charmed to protect them from vandalism, they needed more care and monitoring than could be had in the main library, without putting them in the Restricted Section. This way, the access to the books could be guarded, while still letting students browse the shelves, and at least there was some less chance of their being destroyed. Nor had Madam Pince been able to get an approved increase in her budget for the expense of buying Muggle books, though she had tried for a number of years. As Muggle Studies professor, it naturally fell to Eve to choose the books and monitor who was taking them out, while the advance on her pay and slight budget increase for the new curriculum had allowed her to purchase quite a large number of books. 

The change in curriculum would be somewhat tricky though. It would be easiest with the third-years, who had never had the subject before. They wouldn't know the difference between the new curriculum and the old, though likely they had heard that Muggle Studies was a soft option from housemates and older siblings. This course would be decidedly less soft under the new rules. 

It was the upper years that would be hardest to teach, as they would be used to the old way of doing things, particularly the seventh-years. They would be the most used to the older methods, and would only be there for a year. But at least those who were in the course beyond the O.W.L.s were those that were interested in the subject. 

Most of it would come down to the teaching, which made Eve rather nervous though she wasn't terrified by the prospect. She did have some training and experience in education, it being her speciality in her Museum Studies courses and in her work experience in museums. However it was very different planning a one-time educational program as opposed to planning an entire year's worth of lessons, and seeing the same children every week during that time. If there were problem children she would have to deal with them, not simply wait for the teacher to do something or until the program was over, then give a sigh of relief that she'd likely never have to see them again. 

When she mentioned this at their Thursday meeting, Dumbledore and McGonagall seemed confident in her teaching abilities, and she did have the other teachers as a pool of resources. Most of them had been doing this for years, and by the end of her first week, many had come to her and offered their help if she ever needed it. She also felt much more relaxed around the other teachers. She felt accepted as an equal, instead of that awful in-between feeling she'd had as a student, and it helped that there were other new teachers as well. Crispin was particularly nice, very open and friendly, though occasionally his energy and talkativeness could be a little wearing. Overall, though, he was a nice face to see across the dinner table at the end of a day spent poring over books and parchment. Particularly as she had the same dinner companions as had been placed next to her at the first dinner: Professor Binns on one side, Snape on the other. All she could do was cross her fingers that once school started and meals moved into the Great Hall, that she would have more interesting table-mates. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Snape buttoned his dress robes one week after most of the teachers' arrival, preparing for the annual Formal Arrival Feast. It was considerably easier dressing himself than it had been a week before, as since Madam Pomfrey's arrival he had fully healed. Finally he could swoop around like his usual self, no longer carefully measuring every move to avoid the pain in his side which had inevitably followed. 

He also hadn't had another Summons, which was rather good luck. One could never tell when it would come or how often. Sometimes he had two in nearly as many days, other times he would not be called for a week or two. Never longer than two weeks. The Dark Lord was being more cautious this time, rarely calling all his followers to him at once. More often he summoned them for progress reports or for specific missions. The previous week had been something of an exception, though Snape was fairly certain that not all of the Death Eaters had been there. It was hard to tell, he only ever worked with a few others. Like the last time, Voldemort apparently had his followers divided into smaller cells, and each Death Eater only knew for certain the others in their cell. That was, of course, exactly how he wanted it. If his followers never knew the names of those outside their cell, or even how many Death Eaters there were total, they could not expose the entire group to the Ministry. Snape knew the names of some of those outside his cell, however, having gleaned their identities from shapes or voices heard at larger meetings, or from descriptions of deeds that the Dark Lord had mentioned. He'd known the names of more Death Eaters during the last war, and it wasn't hard to assume that most of those who were not dead had returned. 

_The entire business is just incredibly frustrating,_ he thought as he bent to tie up his shoelaces. Even those names he knew were of limited use to Dumbledore and the Ministry, as if those who were in his cell were all captured except him, it would clearly expose him as a spy. Voldemort didn't entirely trust him; though how little trust was there, Snape wasn't sure. Voldemort didn't trust anyone these days. He wasn't an idiot, either, and if Snape was the last man standing in his cell, the cause would be all too obvious. The most they could do was to carefully monitor the activities of the others in his cell, and if they were in the Ministry, feed them inaccurate information. The few suspected names he had outside his cell were more useful. They could be watched or arrested without too much fear of Snape being exposed. 

It was incredibly delicate business, however, and if Voldemort didn't entirely trust him, the Ministry didn't either. Occasionally he toyed with the idea of saying, "To hell with them both," and emigrating to some far-off place. Some jungle in South America or the primeval forest of Canada, where no one had heard of Voldemort or Cornelius Fudge. It was never anything near a serious idea, though. Just a stress-release valve, something he could imagine when he was fed up with the whole business. Though at times the thought of never teaching again did have its appeal. 

Picturing a lonely, snow-covered cabin by some remote lake in the Canadian north, he walked up to the staffroom; smiling inwardly, even if outwardly he appeared as stern as ever. The Formal was usually a fairly tolerable affair. The food was very good and generally the teachers saved excessive merriment until after dinner. 

He was early, as per usual, and only a couple other teachers had arrived. He sat at his usual spot, hoping that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher wouldn't be too exuberant tonight (that man had the particular talent of grating on Snape's nerves), and that Berger would be in one of her more reflective moods, instead of cackling in his ear every thirty seconds at something Sinistra or Livingston-Bottomley had said. 

The other teachers arrived in spurts, usually entering to exclamations of how they appeared in their dress robes from those already seated. Snape hardly noticed what the others were wearing, as he paid little attention to such things himself. He could hardly avoid noticing McGonagall's Stuart tartan, however, or at least taking a glance at those sitting across or next to him. Bottomley was wearing ivory satin robes, which gave Snape a momentary thought of amusement as he hoped they would be served something with a rather dark sauce. 

Finally all the teachers were present and dinner began, each diner choosing their selected entree from a menu by their plates, with self-refilling champagne flutes at each place. Snape noticed that Berger touched hers with her wand, but he couldn't catch the incantation she used, she spoke so quietly. However, he did see that she seemed to be drinking from her glass quite a lot. He made a mental note to stay away from her after dinner, he didn't need to hear her chiming in with the other teachers that had had a little overmuch. Not that he was a teetotaller, he enjoyed champagne at dinner and Old Ogden's on a winter evening as much as any other man, but at least he knew his limits. 

He did have to admit that dinner was excellent. His lamb was done perfectly, the accompanying mint sauce wasn't too strong, and the seasoned new potatoes were sweet and flavourful. The house-elves had outdone themselves. Not only that, but it seemed everyone was very relaxed (which could have been the self-refilling champagne, now that he thought of it), and conversation was quiet and easy. He spoke a little to some of his fellow teachers, when it suited him or when he was addressed, but for the most part was content to listen and to eat in peace. 

Once the puddings had been magically cleared away, most of the teachers moved to the stuffed chairs with tea, coffee, or their champagne. Snape deftly avoided being drawn into conversation and instead escaped to the entrance hall and thence to the grounds, as the staffroom was feeling rather stuffy and warm, and its occupants getting a little too noisy for his taste. 

He could not escape completely unnoticed, however. As he opened the main doors to the grounds, he noticed Eve Berger sitting on one of the stone walls that bordered the steps to the castle's main doors. He hadn't noticed what she was wearing before, but now he could see she was wearing long, summery dress robes in a blue-grey colour. Her feet, shod in some strappy, high-heeled sandal affair, didn't touch the steps, and she swung her feet slightly. The only other movement she made was to occasionally push stray strands of hair off her face, though the warm breeze seemed to inevitably sweep them back in front of her eyes. She was turned away from him, looking out onto the grounds, but as he opened the door and light from the Entrance Hall spilled onto the steps she gave a quick glance back at him, then looked away. 

Snape wondered why on earth she had to leave the party. He wasn't in the mood for conversation and he didn't want her to think she had scared him away from the steps, but neither did he want to talk, which she probably would (even only out of politeness) if he remained. Then again, he was a master at discouraging conversations when he chose to. 

But she didn't say anything, even when he sat on the opposite wall. She simply stared at the grounds and the stars, sipping her champagne and swinging her feet. Good. He could sit and think in peace, then. 

He'd been sitting for about five minutes when she hopped off her seat and turned to leave. He couldn't resist getting a dig in before she left, particularly as he remembered that she'd seen him in a rather vulnerable state after that last summons. 

"Will you be needing some Hangover Remedy too, Berger?" he said as she opened one of the front doors. 

She turned to look at him coolly, her glass easily balanced in one hand. "I would, if I'd been drinking champagne all evening." She waggled her glass in his direction. "However, I've been drinking ginger ale. Can't stand the taste of champagne. But thanks ever so kindly for the offer, Professor Snape." Her last sentence had a touch of sarcasm in its tone, and Snape would have snapped something back at her if she hadn't slipped into the Entrance Hall immediately. Provoking woman. No better now than she was as a student; worse actually, as she wouldn't have dared be so cheeky when he could have easily taken house points from her. 

His thoughts on the subject did not last however, as he felt an insistent, stinging pain in his left forearm, like a mild burn. He was being Summoned. 

His next steps were so familiar to be automatic. He hurried into the staff room and disposed of his champagne glass, at the same time making eye contact with Dumbledore and nodding his head toward the door. Dumbledore nodded in understanding--Snape always notified the headmaster somehow when he'd been summoned--and Snape hurried down to his quarters, grabbed his Death Eater robes and mask and quickly poured a little of the Superego Potion into a glass vial, just in case it was required. After stoppering the vial, he hurried out again, pulling on his robes as he took a little-used passageway out of Hogwarts and onto the grounds. From there he hurried down the driveway leading to the school gates, and once he was on the other side, donned his mask before Apparating, holding the Dark Lord in his mind so that he would Apparate to his side. 

He arrived, and quickly purged himself of any emotion that would give lie to his thoughts, betraying himself. He spared one small glance for his surroundings--a familiar, shabby-looking room, with a brightly burning fire at one end--before hurrying to where Voldemort sat in a large chair, in front of the fire. Snape immediately knelt at the Dark Lord's feet, as was customary. 

"You may stand, Severus," Voldemort said, in that cold, high voice Snape loathed. "Did you have any trouble leaving Hogwarts tonight?" 

"No, my Lord. The other teachers were at a party, and I had already slipped out onto the grounds. There were none to see me leave." Though he couldn't look away from Voldemort, Snape could see through his peripheral vision that there were no other Death Eaters present, save that snivelling toad, Pettigrew. Every time Snape saw the man he wanted to throttle him, not so much for being the Dark Lord's toady, but because his very existence was a reminder that Snape had been wrong about Sirius Black, when he had so desperately wanted to be--and thought himself to be--right. 

"My worker bees have been busy of late. I am in need of the following potions, within forty-eight hours' time. I trust you will be able to fulfil my request?" Pettigrew handed Snape a sheet of parchment with a list of four potions written on it. Snape took only a perfunctory glance at the list. It didn't really matter how many potions were needed or what ones, the answer had to be the same, no matter what. 

"Of course, my Lord." One never gave a negative answer to Lord Voldemort, that is, if one wished to return home whole and pain-free. 

"Good. I will expect you here on Sunday night, at this time with all of the potions on that list. Have you anything to report?" 

"Dumbledore has been rather busy with the new school year approaching, as well as his other activities. However, I have found out who the new teachers are, as well as one of the Ministry's plans." Snape elaborated, giving the names and positions of the new teachers. It was a small token, considering the _Daily Prophet_ usually published that information in late August, and even if they didn't, the children of Death Eaters would be sending their parents letters from school mentioning their teachers soon enough. At most Snape's information let Voldemort know who the new teachers were two weeks before it was announced, not something of great importance. He and Dumbledore had planned for his other piece of "information" to be more interesting.

"Dumbledore has requested that I begin research on a potion to protect Aurors from the Unforgiveable curses. No Ministry researcher has been doing this so far, as they have been concentrating on some sort of charm to do the same thing, but have been unsuccessful. He and the Ministry have given me _carte blanche_ to order ingredients. As they have already underestimated the possibility of a potion as an answer to this problem, it will not be hard for me to persuade them that my results have been less successful than they would hope, should I come upon any discoveries." 

Voldemort smiled, a truly awful sight with his thin lips and skeletal face. Snape had to take extra care to keep his revulsion down where it could not be detected through Legilimency. "Excellent. You may leave, Severus. I will see you here in forty-eight hours' time." 

Snape bowed deeply, then Apparated back to Hogwarts. His meeting with Dumbledore was brief this time, and within fifteen minutes he was back in his quarters, looking at the list of potions required. Veritaserum, Superego Potion, Draught of Living Death, and Polyjuice Potion. They were some of the most common ones requested and he purposely kept a large stock as the Dark Lord didn't care how long some of them took to make, invariably wanting them within a short period of time. Besides, they were the same ones that the Order often needed, and even though they were technically on the same side as the Ministry, the Order preferred to work separately, for obvious reasons. Somehow it didn't surprise him that the same tools were used by either side; whether the potion was good or evil depended not on its nature but that of the person using it. Then again, he had always known that good and evil were not so clear cut as some of those fighting in this war thought. 

Rummaging through his private cupboards, he found sufficient quantity of the potions requested to keep the Dark Lord happy, though his supply of Polyjuice was getting low. Requiring a month to mature, Snape thought that he should probably start preparing it immediately, as based on the rough records he kept, the Order would be needing some within at least a month. He would have to double-check his orders for ingredients, see which reputable supplier he hadn't contacted in a while. No need to make anyone suspicious about his ordering large quantities of rare ingredients. At least he didn't have to pay for the ingredients himself, something which would have bankrupted him long ago. The late Sirius Black had been the last member of a rather wealthy line, and had left his fortune to the Order for their cause. 

_Probably the one useful thing he ever did,_ Snape mused, before losing himself in the exacting methods of potion-making.


End file.
